Praise for Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road?
“Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road? is both smart and smartass. It takes an unusual long-range approach to screenwriting that is
irresistible.”
— Charlie Rubin, writer: Law & Order: Criminal Intent, Seinfeld, In Living Color;
professor: NYU Department of Dramatic Writing
“Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road? is the most complete and
honest book about the process of screenwriting I’ve ever read. It will
inspire you, guide you, and galvanize you to write the screenplay you’ve
always wanted to write.”
— Michael Pressman, Emmy-winning director and showrunner: Chicago Hope,
Picket Fences, Blue Bloods, Justified, Law & Order
“If you are writing, thinking about writing, or rewriting a script, buy this
wonderful book. It will help you write your best movie.”
—Jacquelyn Reingold, writer/producer : In Treatment, Smash, Grace & Frankie
“A unique, insightful guide not only to writing a screenplay, but to your
own creative process as well!”
— Chad Gervich, writer/producer: After Lately, Cupcake Wars, Dog With a Blog,
Wipeout; author: How To Manage Your Agent; Small Screen, Big Picture
“It is brilliantly organized, splendidly written, and essential to read. This
book is written with the savvy that accrues from years of writing and
teaching experience and with the compassion and generosity that comes
from remembering how it was to have only hopes and dreams.”
— Hal Ackerman, author: Write Screenplays That Sell: The Ackerman Way;
UCLA screenwriting professor and department chair
“This book is like having a pal along on the journey, a pal who can offer
lots of great practical advice while helping you avoid the traps and pitfalls. Joe Gilford possesses an uncanny ability to condense the complexities of dramatic writing into simple truths.”
— John Tintori, award-nominated director and film editor; professor, NYU
graduate film department
“In a world overflowing with screenwriting books, Gilford opens up new
doors to both experienced and new screenwriters. He will make you
smarter when it comes to crafting your screenplays.”
— DB Gilles, author: Writers Rehab: A 12-Step for Screenwriters . . . ; screenwriting professor: NYU
“Don’t cross the road without this book. Gilford is a talented writer,
a great teacher, and a very funny man. The proof is on every page of
this highly enjoyable and very practical guide to the art and craft of the
screenwriting trade.”
—Paul Thompson, screenwriting professor: NYU
“Whether you’re a seasoned pro or an anxious beginner, prepare yourself
to be entertained and enlightened by one of the best in the biz.”
—Tim Albaugh, director: MFA Screenwriting & TV program, Hollins University;
UCLA screenwriting professor
“Gilford’s book is packed full of insights that will have you reevaluating
exactly what writing a screenplay is.”
—Tom Farr, editor: tomfarrwriter.blogspot.com
“Joe Gilford takes you on a journey across the road, showing you all the
screenwriting sites in the process. It’s definitely a journey worth taking.”
—Matthew Terry, screenwriter, filmmaker, teacher
“Joe Gilford gives you all the tools you need to create a powerhouse script.
Think of this book as a basic recipe for a delicious screenplay. Each chapter describes an ingredient and why you need to use it. Exercises along
the way are where you get to taste what you have created so far. Once you
reach the end you will have learned how to serve up a savory story that
will leave people wanting more. Grab a copy of this book now and start
cookin’ on your screenplay!”
—Forris Day Jr., ScaredStiffReviews.com
I N T RODUCT ION
writing a good screenplay isn’t easy. Any seasoned
professional, including me, can tell you that.
You really want it to go well. You really want to do a good job. You
want those involved — including yourself — to be very pleased.
You really want it to be satisfying for all parties, in this case that
means your characters and your audience.
I believe great care is always taken in writing the best screenplays.
The story needs to be psychically and spiritually nutritious. This
isn’t a one-night stand. This is something that needs to be meaningful, maybe even last a lifetime, which is difficult even under the best
circumstances.
Believe it or not, in the end, it needs to make sense in some way.
Even if you don’t see yourself as some kind of “artist,” you can’t
avoid it. You’re going to be writing this script using your whole psyche. All of the feelings, physical sensations, life experiences, sense
of human values, and conscious actions you perform are the product
of your entire being.
I don’t know about you, but the whole idea of my script being
good and being liked by people is very personal.
You want this thing to be powerful, memorable, and most of all,
you want them coming back for more.
But what feels right? What works? It’s different every time you
LET ’S ADMIT IT:
11
12 Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road?
start a new project. What’s the next move? What should I do to make
this better — and better — and better? How can I make it as satisfying as possible, but at the same time not make it self-conscious or
formal?
This is the personal and emotional side of what you do when you
write a story.
But there’s craft involved.
I like to describe screenwriting as a professional craft, which can
be thought of as a combination of music, law, and architecture.
Music: because the creative notation of the written document is
absolutely nothing like the beauty of the final product. You don’t
“see” a screenplay and you don’t “listen” to sheet music. But without
it, nobody would know how to perform it; how to bring it to life.
Ultimately, the reward of a movie and a symphony are actually invisible. The final product is felt by its audience.
Law: because, in a story, you’ve got to prove something to your
audience — and it must make sense according to essential human
values.
Architecture: because you cannot ignore certain proven principles of cause and effect; because you must have structure so that we
understand what it is; because you must respect the rules of engineering so that the whole thing doesn’t fall apart.
And for one of the most important reasons you’ll learn in this
book:
A screenplay is not written — it’s built.
This book is intended for anyone who is thinking about writing a
script. That could be a feature film, a one-hour drama, a sitcom spec,
or a short film, and this includes students, first-time scriptwriters,
and professionals who want to revisit the governing principles of our
craft or those who just want to take a crack at it.
Introduction 13
Orson Welles once said something both funny and cynical: “Anyone
can learn anything in this business in forty-five minutes.” I actually
agree with what sounds like a grotesque undervaluing of the remarkable amount of craft that goes into every aspect of filmmaking.
But what he’s right about is that this is like becoming a lumberjack. How much do you actually need to learn that you haven’t learned
already? And are you ready to listen? And are you ready to cast off so
many notions that provide you a toxic kind of comfort for some of your
ideas, which may have no business being translated into a screenplay?
The ideas and principles that we’ll explore cover the basic principles of all dramatic writing and so it doesn’t matter how long or short
your script turns out to be.
So let’s get something out of the way right at the start. It’s just my
opinion, but . . .
Film is NOT a visual medium.
Blasphemy?
Okay, if your knees shook or you wanted to punch me in the face
maybe this book isn’t for you . . . or maybe it is.
If you’re an open-minded creative person curious about other
points of view and figure “what harm can yet another book on
screenwriting do me?” then keep reading.
PROMISE: Read this book, and you’ll understand what I’m saying. It will also free you from a lot of ideas and methods that are
making it more difficult for you to work through and finish your
decent and producible screenplay. It will also help you dispel a lot of
delusions about writing scripts that will allow you to use your native
talent (which I’m sure you have, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading
this) and finish a good script that people will read.
This book will help you connect with something that will make
your script better than you thought. It’s what I call the human value.
This is what your story is about; what the main character struggles
14 Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road?
for. It’s what audiences really want to see. It’s what actors really want
to be involved in. But it’s not a sermon or an essay. It’s a screenplay.
A dramatic script that will then go through the amazing process of
being transformed into that wonderful final product: a movie.
Remain excited. That’s another thing you’ll learn to do.
That human value is pretty simple. “Crime doesn’t pay.” “Love
finds a way.” “Be yourself.” “It’s better to be connected to people than
not.” “Money isn’t everything.” “Family is important.” Yes, just the
kind of things everybody struggles for in their everyday lives.
But telling the story of your character struggling with this value
needs to be exciting, funny, engaging, and original in some way.
Aristotle claimed there was “nothing new under the sun.” Yet even
with the limited amount of great human values out there, we just
can’t stop trying to tell those stories in a staggering variety of ways.
Read this book and you’ll also have the opportunity to free yourself from the self-judging and inhibiting mindset you bring to your
work every day.
It will stop you from hearing certain things from your “savvy”
friends, even industry professionals, who pollute your mind with
statements like, “Oh, they’re only doing horror movies this year” or
“Nobody’s looking for that.”
What this book affirms is that what “they” are looking for is a
good script. They always have been and they always will be. What this
book proposes is to improve the skills that you need in order to write
a good screenplay; what I like to call a screenplay that works.
Industry professionals, studio executives, even independent producers live in a world of fear. It’s not their fault. They come by it honestly. They’re frightened of saying “yes” to the wrong thing and just
as frightened of saying “no” to the right thing. Best thing you can do
is stay out of that dilemma and simply write what you believe works.
Notice I have not used the word sell.
Sure, I can tell you which kind of script sells — the one they just
bought!
Introduction 15
Nobody knows if a script will be produced or if it will sell, so forget about that. And they can’t really tell if a movie will be successful.
Odds are against every movie being either critically or financially
successful anyway. If that’s why you picked up this book, just shut it,
right now, and go find a book that makes the ultimately false guarantee of helping you write a script that will sell. Won’t happen. At least
I cannot make that promise. Sorry.
But take this book home, get what you can out of it (and please
don’t pass over any other of my colleagues’ worthy books), and the
script that you write will be read and read by the people who matter: actors, talent agents, artists’ managers, producers, and directors.
If you’re a student, your advisor will see a clear and sensible piece
of work that has imagination and originality. If you’re making your
attempt with a real producer or buyer, you’ll know if their notes are
stupid or not. If you are an experienced professional and need to look
at this whole thing from another perspective, you are as brave an
artist as you need to be and I’m flattered at your attention.
I’ll also help you write a likable script, which will get your next
script to the right people even faster. Your script will be “industry
ready.”
I do guarantee that the script you learn to write from reading this
book will not be stupid or embarrassing to you. It will be a script
that works.
This book will ask you to work harder (not faster). It will help
you find a way to write better, but not more. It will also ask that
you come up with a personal way to actually anticipate the response
to your work, both negative and positive. You will know what your
script is, why you wrote it, and who the audience for it might be. You
will know what’s right about it, but more important, you will know
what’s wrong with it. And yes, there will be something wrong with
it. After all, it’s a work of art. But that’s the whole deal with works of
art. They perfectly express our human imperfection in a perfectly
imperfect way.
16 Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road?
There’s no one way to write a story. If you took a survey of every
great writer’s methods and techniques, you’d get a list as different as
each of their wardrobes. The person who tells you “This is the way to
write a script” is like the person who tells you “My language is the
only language to speak.”
Certainly, any language must have nouns, verbs, and adjectives.
Same with screenwriting. There are certain principles in storytelling that you simply can’t do without, but somehow every script turns
out differently.
When we write a story, whether it is prose, fact-based, or personal,
we unconsciously observe many of the basic principles of storytelling. You do it every day.
A story is a carefully structured, sometimes spontaneously imagined piece of human craft. It’s an amazing thing. We do it naturally
and intuitively and we’ve been doing it for thousands of years. Yes, we
understand in our hearts that the thoughtful and deliberate choices
we make in the telling of a story are what make the story likable (or
appealing or spellbinding or funny) — in short, entertaining.
These principles are simply natural to storytelling. We all know
them, use them, and respect them. All of our favorite films, television series, and novels use these principles.
So you’ve been living with and using these principles all of your
life. If you’re interested in writing scripts, then you’re probably even
more conscious of these principles than you realize. You’re already
“breathing” them.
The principles we’ll be working with in this book have all
been extracted from the rich and long history of dramatic writing. Whenever we write a story we’re paying tribute to Euripides,
Shakespeare, Ibsen, and Shaw. The great novelists like Flaubert,
Tolstoy, and Fitzgerald also observed these ages-old principles.
But rather than impose a set of rules on our work, we will use
what naturally occurs in the process of storytelling that has worked
through the millennia. We will codify it and make it like a list of
Introduction 17
“things to do”; “what to pack” before we can claim that our story is
finished.
These fundamental principles of screenwriting upon which we
build successful dramatic stories have been collected and distilled
from a few other experts on screenwriting whom I admire: Robert
McKee, Syd Field, William Goldman, Michael Tierno, and several of
my colleagues at NYU, like Paul Thompson, or from UCLA, including Hal Ackerman. You should read all of their work as well.
I also urge you to examine as many different approaches as you
can tolerate. I’m not a mind reader, but I can tell that this isn’t your
first and it won’t be your last exploration of perfecting your craft
as a screenwriter. It’s not my last time either. No matter how long
I’ve been doing this, I don’t ever feel like I’m done learning about
it. Every new script is a new experience — a new character, a new
world, and a new story.
Even when you’re working alone, screenwriting is collaboration.
If it’s not collaboration with all the dozens of craftspeople involved,
it’s collaboration with a part of your mind that thinks up the story.
This is your silent partner who is in love with movies.
Using these fundamental principles, your story will finally
achieve:
Unity — The story is always being told.
Clarity — The human value of your story is completely
obvious.
Emotional impact — It will be moving or funny or both. It will
entertain.
These are the qualities that attract performers and other professionals to your script. If these people like it, it stands a much better
chance of reaching the screen and/or earning you some money.
Most pleasant of all, you will actually enjoy re-reading your script,
you will be in a position to fight for what’s good in it, and you’ll be
18 Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road?
more open to what needs changing. Because you will have structured it clearly, others will see the human value in it and will work
along the same ideas that you have constructed, helping you to
strengthen it.
Unfortunately, dramatic writing is not like cabinetry. However, as
in cabinetry, there are fundamental principles of craft that we must
follow in order to create a dramatic story; a story that does what it
needs to do — excite and engage the audience.
Screenplays are not movies. They are carefully, thoughtfully, and
deliberately written documents that propose the final movie, but
must also evoke the great values and actions in the story.
These very talented people who make your movie are not simply
interested in putting on a show and making a lot of money. I believe
they are truly committed to using their artistic talents to illuminate
a small part of the human condition.
BTW, if your script is not exciting to read, it will not be exciting as
a movie — and I don’t mean you’re going to use exciting language.
Producers, actors, everybody knows what an exciting script is and
it has little to do with the language (while in a novel, language is
almost everything).
The two major questions:
• Is the story always being told?
• Are we intensely interested in what the protagonist is going
to do next?
In the 1930s, George Bernard Shaw, the leading dramatist of his
generation, was lunching with Louis B. Mayer, founder of MGM
Studios and, at that time, easily the most powerful man in movies
(especially according to himself). Wanting to impress Shaw with his
respect for aesthetics and high art Mayer expounded for some time
on the subject of artistic values, showing off his knowledge while
Shaw politely listened and chewed. When Mayer took a pause, Shaw
Introduction 19
was said to remark: “Mr. Mayer, that’s all very admirable. But you’re
talking about art. I am here to talk about commerce.”
More shocking news: the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Somehow, a myth has developed that the two are worlds apart.
Certainly, there is a long history of films that were not very artistic
but were nonetheless commercially successful. But, by and large,
the most successful movies of the last one hundred years were both
commercially and artistically successful.
Your script can be artistic AND commercial. This runs the full
spectrum from Dumb & Dumber to Chinatown to Breaking the Waves
to The Sopranos and long-running sitcoms like Friends. Good stories
are simply good and appeal to a wide audience and continue to do so
for very long periods of time. If you can still look at Da Vinci’s “Mona
Lisa” after 500 years, then let’s admit it, that’s some great work of art
and, in its way, has been very commercially successful. The same
thing applies to movies: if you can watch a film over and over again
without getting sick of it (my minimum is ten times) then that movie
is a damn good movie and goes on the permanent “art” shelf.
This Book . . .
The primary focus of this book is two-tiered.
My experience and my mentors have taught me a most important
principle:
Story = Structure
That’s because screenplays do not depend on “the writing” (language, style, voice, poetic ideas, grammatical mechanics) but on the
structure (acts, scenes, lines of action — what’s happening and what
characters are doing).
Screenplays are like presenting your idea of a human being by
only showing the skeleton except you’re going to tell me, through
the story, what this person will do when faced with certain choices.
20 Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road?
That’s action. That’s the basic DNA of a story. The big question at
every moment of your story, as your main character is faced with
important choices:
“What’s the hero going to do now?”
But where does this so-called “story” come from? Here’s my
answer:
Character = Story
That’s what this book is about. After years of writing and teaching I have come upon an approach that I feel works for many writers,
including me. It has also served me well as a teacher of hundreds of
students including those at NYU’s Undergraduate Film Program.
Create a central character who plays in great scenes and has a lot of
problems to face — actively — and you’ve got yourself a movie.
These principles are the launching pad for your story. What your
character does or doesn’t do moves the story. Your story doesn’t do
anything without your main character being affected. But remember, you’re not writing material to be read or enjoyed in people’s
minds while they’re curled up on the sofa. You’re writing material
that is created to be performed.
If great scripts and stories were plentiful, then you wouldn’t be
reading this and there would be one hundred contenders for the
Best Picture Oscar every year, not just nine. In fact, if things were
different, we would almost never complain about seeing bad movies, sitting through boring plays, or reading lousy novels.
You wouldn’t struggle for months or years writing a script, it
would just tumble out of your brain like your grocery list. In fact,
there would be no need for story departments, script development,
and no one would need to read a script before it gets produced
Introduction 21
— there would be no rewrites! What a world that would be! We could
get out the crew and the equipment and just make a movie.
But that’s not the way it is.
The great Hungarian émigré producer Alexander Korda fled
Nazi Germany penniless (with his Duesenberg limo, a chauffeur,
and a valet), landed in England, and single-handedly created the
British film industry. He had a famous sign hanging behind his
desk that read: “It is not enough to be Hungarian — one must also
have a good Second Act!”
Even Lars von Trier uses traditional structure in his films, as do
David Lynch and Jim Jarmusch. They just do it in their own special ways.
Let’s remember, a script is a naked, unadorned blueprint of
a filmed screen story. It will be looked at, combed over, debated,
hated, loved, and microscopically analyzed by about a hundred people before it gets produced and that’s if you’re on the fast track.
Unlike a novel or a ballet, it will enjoy the comments of these
hundred people; their whims and opinions. And because they are
paid to do it, they will make you change it. And if you can’t (or won’t)
change it, they will hire somebody else who will. Let’s not forget
the generic name of your beloved script, the yield of years of labor,
blood, sweat, and tears; your “baby.” Industry big shots traditionally call it “The Property.” And just like a piece of real estate, once
it’s got a new owner, that person can do anything they want from
repainting the bedroom to gutting the kitchen. But I’m not saying
you shouldn’t be attached to it. Just know what’s ahead of you.
You can’t hide anything in a script like you can in a novel.
Everything in your script is liable to cost some money. It’s like the
plans for a house, with each separate contractor asking, “What’s
this?” A movie script is scrutinized for quality, clarity, and cost as
much as a fast-breaking news story is scanned for its accuracy. You
can run, but you can’t hide.
22 Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road?
If there’s something flimsy or questionable in your story, you
will inevitably be exposed. If you’re lucky, it happens before you
start shooting. If you’re not lucky, the audience will let you know in
their own wonderfully ruthless way. If the owner — the studio, the
network, or any producer — chooses to ignore a flaw in your story,
don’t think you’ve gotten away with something. They will pay in the
end and they will blame the writer.
Ultimately, the audience will catch you and that’ll be that. “I
didn’t believe he would go out with her, did you?” “How was he able
to get that job so easily?” or “Can you actually obtain explosives by
regular mail?” and hundreds of other comments that can doom a
movie’s credibility.
Movies, despite their belonging to what we call “popular culture,” are thoughtful, deliberate, carefully arranged works of art.
But they aren’t like opera or classical music. They’re more like good
rock’n’roll; a folk art, but they are still important to our cultural and
spiritual nourishment. Everybody loves the movies.
Your script will be read by an agent, sent to the story person at a
film company, looked at by producers, directors, production designers, financiers, insurance actuaries, actors’ managers, actors’ personal story staff, the director’s spouse — the list is very long. But
the people I prefer to sell to, the people who I believe are the ones
who decide if a picture gets made, are not the producer, the director,
or the development person. I am writing my script for the person
whose face gets blown up to the size of a billboard and is the last
person to handle it as an artist. This person is the one whose face is
up there and whose ass is on the playing field: the actor.
Along the way I will familiarize you with what we’ll call the moving parts of your story. These parts are the things you cannot do
without if you want to tell a good story.
If you were building a car, you’d need wheels, an engine, and a
strong frame. If you were building a chair, it must be something
people can sit in. However, isn’t it amazing how many different
Introduction 23
kinds of chairs there are in this world? So you can be original. But
these moving parts cannot be excluded. People need to be comfortable sitting in your chair.
I will make another promise:
You get to keep everything in your story. Every crazy
idea and wonderful quirky moment you want —
. . . but it has to work.
I call this putting it in the box. Don’t get turned off. You will get
to keep everything you’ve imagined in your script — but you have
to “put it in the box.” This script still has to turn out to be a recognizable story. It’s a chair we can comfortably sit in or a car we can
dependably and safely drive. I hope to give you an understanding of
the true function of the characters, acts, scenes and scene structure,
action, the beats (quanta of action), types of characters, the climax,
what goes where — all that stuff.
Imagine your script as a wristwatch. It’s a collection of all these
unique moving parts, yet they are all working together to create a
single experience — to tell the time. Your screenplay will be made
up of different parts all unified in a single purpose — to tell the
story.
My writing methods are pretty simple:
• Write everything . . .
• Write a lot . . .
• Make it into something . . .
• . . . and then rewrite it!
I want you to throw your clay onto the wheel and get going. I don’t
want you to justify yourself. That can get very depressing. It’s the
process of self-judging that’s stopped many a story from being told.
You’re going to stop sucking the wind out of your sails by pitching
24 Why Does the Screenwriter Cross the Road?
your idea at Starbuck’s to your best friend who has no intention of
supporting your effort. You’re going to be discreet, professional, and,
yes, thoughtful about your project. You’re going to give yourself and
your work the respect you both deserve.
You’re most likely going to wind up stifling yourself if you sit
down and ask yourself, “What’s my story about?” That’s a real buzz
kill. Rather than interrogate yourself, I want you to tell yourself what
you already know:
“There’s this guy/gal and he/she is walking along one day and
then — they are thrust into something that is really different and
necessitates some kind of change.” That’s your idea; your pitch.
The rest is not so easy — but now, at least, you’ve opened the door.
You with me? Let’s get to it.